


Isaac's Lament

by BlackbatRevolution



Series: Castlevania Stories [2]
Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Canon Continuation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 03:23:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16568690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackbatRevolution/pseuds/BlackbatRevolution
Summary: While on this journey to end to the world, Isaac enounters someone.





	Isaac's Lament

Blood splattered the sand.  

More and more blood poured out of the fatal wounds of the pale white and tanned bodies piled onto heaps onto the ground, discharged.  Frightful eyes of a young man watched from a distance as a striking man dismounted the horse and hovered over the dead bodies. This was his doing. He had killed them. The men who had held him in bondage had been all slaughtered while he had been tied to a pole as punishment.

The sounds of a struggle, screams of pain and the sight of his the other slaves, mostly women and children running for their lives in the opposite direction, screaming hysterically and muttered rushed prayers gave him the strength to break away the ropes tied around his arms and see where the sounds were coming from. It was stupid. Only a fool would run towards danger but he had to see what was happening.

Then he came upon this sight.

 This man had killed fifteen slavers and their militia of mercenaries, without descending his horse, a horde of zombies doing his bidding for him. Now he hovered over them, sparking a magically flame with his blade, reanimating the bodies. 

It was magic!

It was necromancy!

That fascinated the hiding young man, so much that he stepped forward to see as much as he could.  His mother had preformed miracles and acts of great power through the blessing of their goddess.  He wondered if this man got his abilities from a similar allegiance to a higher power. It must be a god of death, one such as Ogbunabali.

“Show yourself.” The killer ordered, red eyes shooting in the direction of the hider. The hider hesitated, remaining hidden behind the pillar, trembling.

“I know you are there. Either you step forward or run away, hiding is of no use. I hear your breathing and your heart beating...” Calm and stern, the killer commanded him, it was a voice used to commanding, an army.

Runaway or step forward, it was a simple choice for anyone, anyone but him.  He didn’t want to runaway. He would just be running back into the chains of another master. He wanted freedom. He wanted proximity to power.  He wanted to be near this man, to surround himself in him and his power.

So he stepped forward.

Frightened that he had doomed himself, he stayed still, waiting to be addressed.  Same fierce red eyes looked him up and down; he was a frightening man in demeanour but not in appearance. In appearance he was quite handsome—no _beautiful_.  His skin tattooed, rich and dark—like the soil of his homeland, his features carved and yet bold and daring—his lips full, his eyes red and keen.   Dark leather covered his body, strange attire for a dessert dweller.

He was a god send!

He was his saviour.

He didn’t speak. No, his saviour just looked at the frightened man longer before turning away to mount his horse. Why did he tell him to come forward if he planned to do nothing? Was he waiting on him to do something first? Was he expecting an attack?  Whatever was in the saviour’s mind, he was not allowed to leave.

“Thank you for freeing us!”

His gratitude received no answer.  His saviour was refusing to look at him, even though he wanted to. One could tell because he rode the horse at a slow pace for a reason.

“Wait...where are you going? Please take me with you!”  The freedman ran behind the horse, begging and pleading with the stranger.

“I’m going to _end humanity_ and reunite with my friend.”

It gave him chills, the declaration was said with the certainty of a man who told no lies and would not jest. This was by no means a deterrent to the tagalong, but still enough to shake him. “Then...take me...with you..! I can...help!” He stuttered without meaning to.

A scoff was heard from above. “Why would I take another human along to end humanity?”

“Well.....umm.” He stuttered again, this time to buy himself time to think, no sensible answers came to mind so he just said anything,

 “What if I wasn’t human?”

A chuckle escaped his saviour. “You look human.” 

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“You act human.”

“I’m good at...blending in?”

 He was relentless. It was very clear He was a human, an African man of maybe twenty three or twenty five at the most. His skin was as dark as Isaac’s in some areas but largely uneven in tone and scarred, a skin condition or affliction of some sort. It was not unattractive just odd in this region. He was tall, lanky but appeared hardened from labour. His wild knotted hair was barely contained with a tie string and he wore colourful cotton robes.  He was pleasant to look at, cute but not the immaculate beauty that Isaac was. 

“I will not—”

“ _Please...I have no one_.”  Tears welled up in the eyes of the young man as he pleaded, running behind the devil forgemaster.  
  


Isaac was already doing him a big favour by not allowing his dead horde to rip him apart, so Isaac can add him to his growing army but there was something about him that made it difficult for Isaac to brutalize in the name of ending continuous human suffering. It could be that Isaac had never hurt someone African before; from a young age he was sold and taken to away from his home, travelling to places where he had yet to see someone has dark as him, from the same race. Coming to Wallachia Hector had been the darkest person he has seen in years.

He had never had a reason to hurt his own kind, they had not enslave him, brutalized him or plunge his world into the void of never ending pain as those white men had. His desperate eyes, his eager smile, his desire for companionship was something Isaac was not used to. He kindled whatever last ember of optimism Isaac had within him, awakening his inner child that still believed love was possible.

The young man cleared his throat becoming nervous when look at so intensely, when possessing Isaac’s complete attention. He was being appraised again, for his usefulness, maybe or something less sensible. “Will you please let me come along?”

Isaac sighed, conceding. “You may do as you please.”

He proceeded to leap into the air, clapping. “Thank you so much. You won’t regret it!”

“ _You might_.” Isaac pointed over to an unused horse that was already carrying a load, prepared to travel. He could mount the large beast to keep up, instead of running alongside Isaac. “I promise will not look after you. Fend for yourself.”

“I’m sure I can manage!”  He said with determination, as he mounted the horse backwards, unable to keep control of it for long.

“Hmm.”

“What is your name?”

“Isaac.”

Awkward silence engulfed them as Isaac only gave one word answers.

“Don’t you want to know my name?”

“No.”

“It’s Kwesi!”

“Hmm.”

“So...Isaac where are you from?”

“Here.” Here was northern Africa, Morocco in the middle of the Sahara desert.

“Where are you going?”

“ _Wallachia_.”

“Oh okay...” He nodded as if he knew what Isaac had just said. “Where is that?”

“Eastern Europe.” Isaac sighed. 

“That sounds far.”

“Quite.”

“Why do you want to end the human race? Are you not human too?”

“Why do you talk so much?” Isaac countered, being defensive. His tone was so sharp. He meant to humiliate and it worked. It shut the chatterbox right up.

Silence engulfed them once again, also the tension that had melted away returned. Kwesi’s embarrassment was expected, but Isaac’s guilt was new to him. He hasn’t felt such an emotion in a long time, guilt at hurting a person and the desire to make amends.

“I never said to stop talking.”

That was an apology, Isaac’s version of one.  
  


Kwesi smiled and continued his on slot of questions and stories about himself and his life, before slavery. “Do you have any family? Because I do, I have a mother, and three young brothers, I was separated from them a few years ago, three years exactly and...I was in Ghana, our kingdom, when the white men had stolen my brothers while they played in the untamed and came for me and my mother....”

Kwesi talked and talked about the life and culture of the Akan people, and Isaac listened, every once and a while giving brief answers. It was less his coldness and more that he wanted to bask in the warm feelings that stirred as Kwesi spoke, his humour and ease gave Isaac an idea of what true serenity might be like. The length of the desert Sahara desert became bearable with his talking, laughing friend beside him.  
  


“Woah!”  Kwesi shouted as the restless horse disobeyed him, _again._ “Why is this beast not listening to me?”

Isaac laughed, outwardly, Isaac laughed at his fumbling. His laughter was rich and deep. It was laughter that heals.

“Why are you laughing? You got the good horse! This one is broken...”

“The horse is not the problem Kwesi, it is you and your incompetence.”

The horse began to wonder off into another direction, ignoring the pleas and reining in of its passenger. “Isaac help please! I’m being kidnapped!”

Chuckling under his breath Isaac dismounted his horse, walked over to Kwesi’s horse and grabbed its reins and leading it towards him, gaining the animal’s trust and obedience.

“Oh thank you Isaac. You’re my hero.” Kwesi playfully swooned, an actor and entertainer at heart, batting his eyelashes in a flirtatious fashion.

“Shut. Up.”

Surprisingly Isaac mounted Kwesi’s horse, settling in behind him, taking reins of the horse from the inexperience rider. Horse riding was not a skill one would teach a slave. “I told you the horse was not the problem.”

“It just listens to you. It hates me. All animals hate me, except for cats. I have an unspoken bond with felines...”

That incited another soft chuckle from within Isaac. “Is it because they are as fickle and prideful as you?”  
  


Isaac manoeuvred his arms around Kwesi’s waist, chest pressed close to his back.  Kwesi was buzzing with foreign nervousness, his heart fluttering and skipping. He wanted to point out Isaac just broke his promise not to help him but he was lost for words the first time in his life. He could feel the rise and fall of Isaac’s chest, Isaac breathed like any human did. He ran hot—his skin attracting heat and his heart beating unnaturally calculated.

This was the beginning of something for both of them, something worth getting an understanding off, something worth exploring in full detail.

Scorching day turned into freezing night in the desert, all that could be heard was the groaning of the zombie horde, the whistling wind and the sound of Kwesi’s light snoring against Isaac’s chest as he continued to ride the horse into the night.

Isaac hadn’t planned on stopping to rest much on his way to Wallachia but now he had to. It wasn’t for him. He could not deny it was for Kwesi’s sake.  He survived off little rest and the dead horde no longer felt fatigue, not that he cared if they did. But now he was no longer alone. This human Isaac had taken upon himself to take with him was now affecting how he thought and acted.

It was scary how desire—attachment compels one to change.

He stopped near a cluster of caves and rock formations that surround a small oasis.

He stopped the horse, pulling Kwesi down with him as he descended.

“Wha...what is happening..!”  Kwesi stirred from his sleep. He was disoriented, frightened that the day he experienced had been a dream.

“You need sleep.”

“No I don’t, “He yawned. “I wasn’t sleeping...just resting...” Drool slid down his chin.

Isaac shook his head at human silliness, denying the obvious to save face. “Well the horses need to sleep or would you rather walk the rest of the way.”

“Oh okay for the horses.”

Isaac led Kwesi down at mouth of the cave, laying out a makeshift bed of fabrics they stole from the slaver’s camp.  He lay down and rested while the devil forger sat in front of the opening, guarding him, watching the horses drink.

“Hey Isaac—

“ _Sleep_.” 

“But I don’t—

“Kwesi.” It was a warning. He knew how to be stern now without hurting his companion’s feelings.

“Fine just answer me one question...please?”

Those his persistent hoarse voice had become Isaac’s weakness. Isaac sighed, shaking his head in agreement. “Go on.”

“How did you get here? You say you’re from here but you seem very out of place.”

“No, my friend sent me here. He sent me home.”

“Why?”  
  


Time was taken to absorb the question, to reflect on the past, to see him prepare himself to die for his friend, only to be betrayed and casted aside in his time of need. When he wanted to be of use to him, repay him for his good deed; repay him for giving his life purpose and meaning. “Against my wishes he trapped me here...when I was prepared to die for him he forced me to abandon him when he was in grave danger.... casted me aside....to live out my worthless existence.”

Kwesi bypassed the hurt and self hatred to the light in all of this. “He must really love you.”

“Love...?”

“When my mother was in danger....she gave up herself....told me to hide...I wanted to go with her, where ever they were taking her my brothers would be there too but she refused...it was to protect me from enduring what horrors she must be. This life, though hard, was the best possible outcome for me...I am alive because of her sacrifice. I can one day go home to Ghana because of her. So if your friend is anything like my beloved mother... _he protected you, for he loved you_.”

Stiff as a board, the forge master went rigid. He neither moved nor breathed. Kwesi was consumed with worry. “...Isaac?”

“Isaac?”

A tear streamed down Isaac’s cheek.

Kwesi crawled out of the cave and sat next to Isaac not acknowledging his tear.  Instead he leaned against Isaac, resting his head against his shoulder.  When Isaac relaxed, he laid his head in Kwesi’s lap, sobbing softly. Kwesi leaned down and placed a kiss on Isaac’s forehead, fearing a negative reaction but saw none. He was glad. His blossoming feelings were shared.

He knew the power Isaac had within him to accomplish whatever he truly desired, it was that internal flame fortified by craving a good loving world and refusing to accept what he had been given. “We will find your friend,” Kwesi promised without even knowing what he was truly saying.

Isaac did not answer. He gripped Kwesi’s thigh and continued sobbing into the fabric of his robes. Hours seemed to pass as grief and yearning wracked him. When he was done, Isaac only looked to the darkened night sky with red, tear stained eyes.  Full and brilliant, the moon shined. He hoped he still had a friend out there that saw the same moon he did and needed him, a friend that needed his loyalty, his ability and _his love_.

He did.  
  


No longer would he feel out of place in this world.  
  


Even though he knew not if Dracula lived, he still had a friend, _a brother_ that needed him now more than ever and now a lover that would help him endure the journey to _Hector_ and what awaits him in Wallachia.  
  


The sons of Dracula were destined to reunite for a greater purpose.    
  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> The greater purpose is to beat camilla's ass and form a boy band with Alucard called "Sons of Dracula."


End file.
